Page 103 of A Whisper in the Shadows

Maxwell stood. “Nobody here is without blame. You all agreed to keep the corruption quiet.”

“We saw no point in having it made public,” Furnier said tightly. “It wouldn’t solve anything and would only drag the society further into the mud. The best we could do was try to make things right and move forward.”

“I had nothing to do with any of this, but I don’t disagree with them trying to protect the society,” Draper said. “It shouldn’t fall apart because of the corruption of two terrible men.” He turned his head toward Nevill. “I even understand what you did in helping Phelps. You were trying to protect the society. That’s probably why you killed him too. He ruined everything and dragged you into it.”

Nevill shook his head wildly. “But I didn’t kill anyone!”

“I agree with Draper,” Furnier said quietly. “It only makes sense that you killed Phelps. If you truly cared for the society and those of us associated with it, you would confess your guilt and end this nightmare.”

“But I didn’t kill anyone,” Nevill repeated, his voice pitching down as he lowered his gaze to the table. He sniffed and rubbed his hand across his nose.

“I am sorry it’s come to this,” Furnier went on. “But I just don’t see how the society can recover.” He looked to Maxwell and Hadrian. “I’m afraid your services will not be needed.”

Hadrian locked his gaze with Furnier’s. “I’m committed to ensuring that the people who were cheated receive their money. Don’t you have a lockbox with the society’s funds?”

“I do,” Furnier replied. “With the society ceasing to operate, we’ll have to refund everyone’s money, not just those who were cheated, and there isn’t enough since Eaton and Phelps stole some of it.”

“We’ll have to find an equitable way to refund the fees,” Hadrian said. “Unless a benefactor or benefactress wants to step in to help.” He glanced toward Mrs. Atkins where she sat in the chair.

“This is a travesty,” she cried. “I’m not giving money to a failing, corrupt society.”

Tilda thought it seemed as if the Amicable Society was well and truly dead.

“We can rebuild the society,” Draper insisted. He looked to Furnier. “I will help you.”

“I appreciate your zeal, Mr. Draper, but I’m afraid it’s too late,” Furnier said sadly. “Please help Mr. Beck in his endeavors to return the money, and I will also do my part.”

Mrs. Atkins stood and moved toward the table, her gaze fixing on Draper. “We will find a way to start a new society.” She shifted her attention to Hadrian and smiled, in spite of the tense mood in the room. Tilda resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Can I count on you to join us, Mr. Beck?” Mrs. Atkins asked.

“Certainly,” Hadrian replied after a moment’s hesitation. “You should accept Draper’s help too.”

Tilda could see that Hadrian had debated whether he should commit, knowing their time in the Coleman Street Ward was coming to an end. Though, if Nevill was telling the truth, Phelps’s murderer was still at large.

She looked about the room and reckoned the culprit had to be there, whether it was Nevill and he was lying, or perhaps it was Furnier, or Dr. Giles, or even Mrs. Atkins. What of Mr. Draper? They hadn’t considered him before, but he seemed very invested in maintaining the society. She also couldn’t completely discount Mrs. Walters, though the woman claimed to have told the complete truth. Still, people like her and Nevill could not be entirely trusted after they were found to have lied about so much.

“Someone must alert the police about Nevill,” Giles said. “I’ll fetch a constable.”

“You don’t need to,” Nevill said, rising in a wobbly fashion. “I will turn myself in.”

Dr. Giles sent him a dubious glower. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you. I’m fetching a constable.” He stalked from the room.

Mrs. Furnier and Mrs. Draper had come into the room but stayed near the doorway. Now, they each went to their husbands. Mr. Draper embraced his wife, whilst Mr. and Mrs. Furnier clasped hands briefly. The Furniers whispered to one another, and Tilda wondered what they were saying.

Hadrian leaned toward Tilda. “Do you believe Nevill’s claims of innocence?” he whispered.

“He’s made himself very unreliable. The evidence leads to him. Nevill looks unsteady on his feet. Perhaps you should help him sit down.” She didn’t want to outright ask Hadrian to touch Nevill in the hope of seeing the murder, not with Maxwell standing so close.

Hadrian’s eyes lit with understanding. “I’ll do that.” He moved around the table to where Nevill stood with his head down.

Tilda watched as Hadrian murmured to Nevill, then took the man’s hand to guide him to a chair near the wall away from the table. It took them a few moments, and Tilda anticipated Hadrian would have plenty of time to see a vision.

But after Nevill was seated, Hadrian met her gaze and gave his head a small shake. Either he hadn’t seen anything, or he hadn’t seen anything helpful. That was a shame.

“That was not quite the confession we expected,” Maxwell said, drawing Tilda to pivot toward him. “But if I were facing hanging, I would probably say whatever I could to avoid it.”

“Nevill’s declarations of innocence won’t save him if he’s proven to be guilty, and there is plenty of evidence.”